


Man on a Wire

by gabapple, mamodewberry



Series: NLAverse [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Baby Viktor and Chris Moments, Backstory, Character Growth, Christophe Giacometti & Victor Nikiforov Friendship, Flashbacks, Getting Together, M/M, Mystery Man Explored, NLA Canon, One-Sided Attraction, Pole dancing is a great form of exercise, Pre-Series, Real World Consequences, Switzerland, The cat will come eventually, You will love Chris or we will eat our collective hat, Young Victor Nikiforov, inbetweenquel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2019-10-27 06:03:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17761181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabapple/pseuds/gabapple, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mamodewberry/pseuds/mamodewberry
Summary: Confidence is an essential life skill. Without it, you are easy prey to the wolves. If acquired, and not tempered, you become one yourself.Conviction. Self-possession. Credence.Fame comes with open windows and doors, little can be kept secret. Constantly on display. The symbolism of a costume, the meaning of a program.Discovering yourself, and holding steadfast in it, is vital. The sooner in life, the better. You’ll be able to combat whatever puts itself in your path to being you.





	1. ~Un~

**Author's Note:**

> Mamo here! This has been a long time coming, so here it is; The ChrisBaz (Baz aka Bastien aka Mystery Man) Love Story fic. This will cover their meeting and how they came to be the wonderful couple they are in NLA :)  
> I love Chris a heckalot. Through the course of writing and plotting NLA with Gab I often wondered about his life and his love as my love for him grew. So here you have it.  
> Think of MoaW as an inbetweenquel - not quite before NLA, but not exactly within NLA, but not after. 
> 
> The title comes from a song by The Script by the same name. 
> 
> Warning: This fic will contain spoilers to Never Look Away. It takes place a year after Christophe confesses his feelings for Viktor, from the flashback in chapter 12. It also will have many insights into Viktor’s years before he began his five-time champ reign, of which will never be talked about in NLA, proper. Thanks, Chris :)
> 
> Additional warnings: mature themes, one-sided feelings/healing of a broken heart, brief dealings in homophobia, a very angsty Viktor, Chris is a bit of a scoundrel and shameless.

_ European Championships, Tallinn, Estonia _

_ Christophe (20 Years old) _

 

Tonight was the night. 

His chance. 

The last two years had been leading up to this moment and Christophe Giacometti was ready. A fresh haircut before departing Switzerland, touched up and styled for the evening banquet, curls placed just so. Shoes and cufflinks shined. Cologne applied. And a touch of war paint for courage.

Would Viktor notice?

Confidence was something he’d been working on internally, but taking Viktor’s mantra to practice wouldn’t hurt.

Carefully, he polished the wine glasses with a cloth. Then the bottle of merlot he’d stowed in his luggage. 

Perfect. 

Tucking the wine under his arm and the stems of the two glasses in one hand, he took one last glance at the hotel room. Beds made and pillows fluffed and inviting.

Just in case. 

Viktor wasn’t one to go straight to  _ that _ , but Chris was more than prepared.

With a smile on his face and a greeting for all he passed, Chris made his way to the banquet hall. 

No matter the country, the set up for banquets was typically the same; round tables with long cloths over gaudy hotel carpet, chandeliers with bulbs of differentiating luminosity due to being replaced over the years, ice sculpture centerpieces at the buffet table, and plenty of cheap champagne to go around. The same cliques of skaters gathered at tables or in corners to themselves. Coaches and sponsors mingled. 

And then there was Viktor Nikiforov, doing his best to not be involved with anyone at all. Depending on the position of the tables, he’d sit towards the back of the room or stand off by the wall for easier escape from approaching wolves. 

Chris was not a wolf, not now or ever, and had developed a soft and easy smile to assure Viktor of this. 

Viktor had not yet taken notice of his approach.

So Chris took advantage of the extra moments to breathe and steel his composure. His nerves were bounds better than they used to be - of course they’d be, that was the point of the last two years! - he couldn’t regress now. 

Another pause to steady his heart, and Chris took a step towards his friend he wished were more.  _ “J’ai aimé jusqu’à atteindre la folie. Ce que certains appellent la folie, mais ce qui pour moi, est la seule façon d’aimer.”  _ I have loved to the point of madness; That which is called madness, That which to me, Is the only sensible way to love.

Viktor finally startled out of his cold trance. Expression caught off guard, and then softening into a sort of amused and curious one. “ _ Tu es charmante _ . Just what are you up to?”

Perhaps the line was a little strong, but it did catch his attention. "I had to calm the beating of my heart around you from the very moment I met you... You are no longer spoken for, so I'm letting my heart do as it pleases." 

Blue eyes looked down to the wine in his arms than back up to his face. His smile, one of his rare and genuine ones, went stiff across his face, as well as his body. 

Shock wasn’t the reaction Chris had been going for, but Viktor was searching his face for sincerity. He was breaking through to him! “ _ Tes yeux, j'en rêve jour et nuit..." _

There was no disgust or discomfort, but also not starry-eyed or vulnerability he sought. He wouldn’t be Viktor Nikiforov if were easy. Chris knew he had his trust, a rarity indeed, and now he wanted his heart. 

He’d never wanted something so much in his life. 

“Chris,” Viktor answered after several long moments. “Can I speak with you? Outside?”

“Certainly!” Somewhere more private was more appropriate to discuss matters of the heart, after all.

Measuring his steps, he followed after Viktor’s limping stride to the rotunda. They found an alcove with a sofa and table and took a seat. Chris placed the bottle and glasses on the table, displaying the label to Viktor, letting him know how he’d paid attention during those late night hotel conversations. 

The silence between them was never uncomfortable. Chris knew to not rush Viktor and let him process things. It wasn’t everyday your best friend confessed to you. 

There was also the matter of how Chris just barely took bronze from him at this year’s European Championship. Was he at all sore about that? This last season had been rough for him. Viktor took gold at the Olympics the year before, but his knee paid the price. It’d been a year since then; was physical therapy not going well?

Or was it the weight of the wolves and their rumors of him losing his touch and retiring?

The fools. Viktor Nikiforov wouldn’t let some injury keep him out of the competition. He’d already proven that at his senior debut.  

Viktor sat up straight. “To be clear… You  _ are  _ hitting on me.”

Chris’s smile wavered. Viktor was, or had been, a romantic type, but perhaps the words were too flowery and their meaning got lost along the way. “Am I not?”

His friend closed his eyes long enough for a sharp, steeling breath, and then he took one of his hands.

On his own.

Viktor took his hand!

Was he…

Chris watched him. Waiting, but… the atmosphere was far too heavy for a favorable response. 

“Chris. I’m beyond flattered. But... I can’t.”

The hope that had been building deflated in an instant. Was everything he’d done up to this point-- “Is it the difference in age…?” Chris asked, leveling the desperation in his voice as he grasped at justifications in his mind.

“No. Nothing like that.”

“A relationship while skating… and long distance at that…” Admittedly he had given that thought. That was one of the biggest complaints Viktor had with Niko, but what else could they do? He doubted he could convince Viktor to change coaches, and Chris was sure Josef wouldn’t be too happy about him changing coaches, either. It wasn’t too expensive of a flight. Once a month? He could manage that.  

Viktor didn’t answer and reclaimed one of his hands to run it through his hair, jaw tightening with the tension, eyes closing for another moment. “Chris. You deserve someone that can give you  _ everything  _ in a relationship, and I can’t.” 

That’s what these last your two years had been about … becoming someone deserving of Viktor Nikiforov! Unless… unless…

It had been pointless from the beginning.

Politely Viktor let his words settle, watching for his reaction, gentle as could be in his rejection. “That spark… what I used to feel? It’s gone. Nearly four years, and I can’t seem to get it back.”

He felt himself pale. At the ski trip with his family, Viktor confided in him that he’d never love again. It was easy to write it off as broken-hearted, a little dramatic, perhaps. But a feeling once there… a spark… a desire for another… 

The haircut, the withdrawing socially and emotionally… 

“Oh.  _ Oh.  _ Viktor…” Chris had had his suspicions and hoped his Viktor wouldn’t have gone through that  _ torture. _ Gone through and  _ survived _ and at the cost of a vacant heart and desire. Why would Viktor do such a thing to himself? It broke his heart that Viktor couldn’t see how perfect he already was. “That doesn’t make you… unloveable…” Not by him or anyone else. If that was all Viktor was concerned about, Chris would gladly repress the experience and appetite he’d cultivated. He’d done it all for him, anyway. 

A weak laugh broke the silence. “Thank you. But you deserve more… and I don’t want to give you the impression that there’s any chance. Don’t wait for me.”

That was it, then. Viktor didn’t want to take a chance and Chris wasn’t one to insist or try later. It was against the rules he’d established. Even if it was Viktor, he’d respect his wishes. “No, I understand. Truly. One rejection is all I need.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You needn’t be.” Viktor wasn’t at fault at all, it was Chris who had been a fool and risked so much on a confession. 

 

* * *

 

_ Lucerne, Switzerland _

_ Christophe (21 years old) _

  
  


The comfortable heat that had been with him throughout the night faded. Blinking awake, Christophe rose from his stomach to his knees with a cat-like stretch to see no one at his side. At the sound of his front door clicking shut, he moved to a sit, wiping sleep from his eyes.  

There went another one without saying goodbye. 

He preferred them to stay, as it was the polite thing to do when one was a guest and there was a mutual soiling of bedsheets. Talk over breakfast and _ then _ let them be on their way. 

But if Derrick preferred walking in the rain over spending more time in Christophe’s company, that was his loss. 

From his nightstand his cell phone vibrated with a text. Stretching over to retrieve it, he unlocked his screen to read the message. 

[See you next week!]

Christophe clicked his tongue. “You shouldn’t presume. I do have a schedule to keep.” Men that approached him at work were always under the impression he was free whenever they wanted him. Those that showed human decency toward him had priority, of course. Those that performed well even more so. 

Derrick? On a waitlist for now.

Christophe fell back onto his mattress and opened Instagram to view the latest on his feed. Rinkmates and fellow competitors loaded with each swipe up of his thumb, showing progress in their programs for the upcoming season. And whatever else. 

If only he’d found the motivation to work on his own. It was only June, he certainly had time.

Unless you asked Viktor Nikiforov, who had at least ten programs lined up by the start of summer, let alone three. The ice was life, no time for anything else! 

But Chris knew the ice was the only thing he made and wanted time for. And his poodle. 

One could see that life as simple to be so one-tracked, but with Viktor nothing was ever simple. 

Like the photo of a gloomy sky reflected in a puddle with the spier of a building that would only be found in Russia came in view. The account had no profile bio, no descriptions on photos or location tracker turned on. Occasional no-filter, but partial to Inkwell and Hudson. If there weren’t so many clues, Chris would be oblivious like he knew Viktor intended. Sharing a small portion of his world view was simple, but Viktor kept interests he had outside skating a secret, in fear of… something. 

Chris Liked the photo and moved on until he reached where he’d left off the day before. Then shifted on the bed towards the window to catch the light just so, holding out his phone for a selfie. 

_ Good Morning #rainy #shouldgettopractice _

Unlike Viktor, Chris didn’t hide his other interests from the world. 

 

If not for the rain, Chris would have run to the rink after his morning muesli. Instead, he left his flat with boots and umbrella and headed for the bus stop. 

The weekday route driver greeted Chris with a nod as he flashed his pass and boarded onto the crowded bus. Tourist season and wet weather always meant standing room no matter what time of the day. He found a space near a support handle and held on. 

As the bus lurched into motion, his home Lucerne passed by. Rain fell on the cobblestone of the roads and walkways while people rushed for shelter. Droplets distorted the surface of lake like white noise. 

Off to his right within the cabin of the bus, he could hear the whispers and giggles of girls. He risked a quick glance in their direction, and yes, their commotion was about him. Fans, or appreciating an attractive stranger in the wild? It was hard to tell. Still, he feigned boredly looking around the passengers, then stopped at them and smiled. Blushing, the three huddled among themselves to mute their squeals. 

The bus came to the designated stop and Chris ducked under the port to adjust his sport duffel over his shoulder and opened his umbrella. Trudging through the puddles, Chris walked toward the red beacon that was the Swiss Life Arena.

 

“There you are. You’re late, Christophe.”

“Or maybe you’re early, Josef,” Chris said, looking up from his phone with a grin, then paused mid-step at the sight of the tall, moderately dark-haired, and handsome gentleman beside his coach.  

The older man was not amused, but dropped the subject with a sigh, rubbing at his bald head. They’d been together long enough to know Chris’s tardiness was for reasons he didn’t want details for - usually - and a vague response sufficed. 

Honestly Chris thought he changed into his warm-ups in record time, so there was that.

“Now that you are here, I can introduce you.” Josef took a step to give his guest the floor. “This is Bastien Müeller - you may recognize him. He’ll be joining our team.”

It was true; Chris did recognize him, now that he had a name. Six years ago, Bastien Müeller retired as an ice dancer. Beautiful form and easy on the eyes, but no outstanding records were set, thus his career came and went without much fanfare. Many (strictly platonic) hotel evenings spent with Viktor at competitions discussing the fine specimens on the ice, Bastien being one of them. “How could I forget that face, even after disappearing from the sport. Coming out of retirement to figure skate? You aren’t exactly dressed for skating, but you wouldn’t be the first to skate in a suit. First day at practice, perhaps. I’d like to see that.”

Bastien didn’t take the compliment like he’d hoped. Like Josef, he watched Christophe with a dull expression. 

“No, Chris, he’s not a new teammate. He’ll be your manager.”

“...Manager? What for?”

Josef fixed him a look, which only made Chris more offended. And betrayed? 

“He’s also going to choreograph your programs this season and forward.”

“But you and I have always done it together. Changing our dynamic, Josef?”

“After last year, you could use the help.”

Again the concern was lost on Chris. If there was an issue with his performance, Josef could have said so before! Not assign staff to him without consulting first. 

Still, Bastien didn’t deserve a scene. He was here to do the job he was hired for, not listen to complaints and have reasons to regret taking the position. Especially on Day One. Retired ice dancer, now manager, took a step forward and offered his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Giacometti."

Keeping the peace while there was tension between student and coach was commendable. Maybe that was also the reason for a manager, even though Chris always thought he and Josef had a good relationship. Chris took his hand, then placed his other over the top of their fingers. “There's no need for formality if we are to be working so closely.”

Bastien’s gaze went to their hands, then back to his face with a hint of a smile. "Mr. Christophe."

Maybe there was a sense of humor in there after all. And maybe… "Tell me, are you the straight man, or are you the  _ straight man _ ?"

Josef groaned. At least that garnered a reaction!

However, whatever hint on Bastien’s lips vanished. Or had it been wishful thinking? "Christophe it is."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris's mysterious new manager is handsome and serious, Chris's family is a lovely bunch, and things will never quite be the same .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Squeezing chapter two of this before we write the most painful chapter of NLA! TAT 
> 
> A few OCs will be popping up in this work. They are mostly Chris's family, but there'll be some from NLA that'll wander in as well.

_ European Championships, Paris, France _

_ Christophe (15 Years old) _

 

Viktor Nikiforov was a legend. 

Well,  _ becoming _ one, but in Christophe’s eyes he already was. 

His junior debut set records and his senior status was going similarly. 

Chris had been captivated by how both of Viktor’s programs related each year. How each competition built upon the story. Whether it was attending the same season circuit or watching from home, he was transfixed by the Russian skater. 

Viktor Nikiforov was beautiful. 

Chris was a senior now, but he hadn’t hit his growth spurt yet, so he couldn’t do many of the jumps that Viktor could do so elegantly with ease. Someday, though. Someday. 

For now Chris was too far away to ever be noticed in stature and skills by someone like Viktor. 

And yet he called out to him. 

It was by chance he and Josef got their seats where they did for the European Championships. Close enough that Chris could see skaters exit through the breezeway tunnel. Close enough for a skater to be in earshot. 

When Viktor stepped off the ice, Chris couldn’t stop his voice from bubbling out to congratulate his gold in a crackling sound.  

Viktor was surprised, as if no one had tried to get his attention from the crowd before. Or maybe someone so young and the prepubescent voice was amusing. 

Who wouldn’t call out to someone like him? 

“What’s your name?” Viktor asked, sweetly. 

He must have recognized him as a fellow competitor! “Christophe Giacometti!”

Viktor closed his eyes, committing his name to memory. “Okay.” And then from the bouquet in his arms, he plucked the stem of a wrapped rose and tossed it toward him.

Chris caught it with both hands, careful of the petals. 

“See you at the Worlds!” Viktor’s smile was charming and genuine. Eyes so kind. 

All Chris could do was nod with a flushed face. Viktor shared a piece of his gold victory bouquet with him. A token of his appreciation, a good luck charm for the competitions ahead. 

  
  


* * *

 

 

“I didn’t employee you a booty call, Christophe.”

Bastien had excused himself for a phone call. It was polite of Josef to wait for him to be out of earshot, but it would have been more fun if he’d heard the question. “Are you sure about that? It’s like you knew my type.”

“You have a wide range of types, how could I  _ possibly _ miss?”

Chris pouted.

“I could have hired a woman,” Josef teased. 

Chris ignored and redirected, “Ooh and then she’d be  _ your _ booty call!”

“Don’t.”

He held up his hands in surrender. He knew that tone. “But really, Josef… you’ve been my coach my entire skating career. Why didn’t you come to me if you had a problem with my performance last season?” 

“You would have protested and somehow convinced me not to.”

“I  _ am _ rather persuasive.”

“And  _ I _ need compliance.”

Finality was evident in his coach’s tone. Chris stood quiet, considering. He never did like arguing with Josef. 

His coach sighed, and reached up to cup his shoulder. “Listen, Christophe. Nobody cares about your career more than me. We trust each other. You know I wouldn’t sabotage your chances.”

“I don’t disagree with any of that. But maybe next time, please come to me first? Not that I’m not going to enjoy seeing that gorgeous face at practice, I’d like to continue our honest relationship.”

“All right, that’s fair.” Josef squeezed his shoulder before taking his hand away. “Why don’t you start warming up while Bastien is finishing up.”

Chris lifted a foot to remove a skate guard and smirked, “You still haven’t explained to me what made you decide to do this.”

“The fact that I have to tell you is a problem in and of itself. Don’t waste your practice time, Christophe.” He waved his old hand toward the rink. 

Removing the second guard, Chris made a show of rolling his eyes at his coach then opened the gate to the ink. While Chris got to work with frontward and backward crossovers, he watched Basien.

He’d tucked his chestnut hair behind his ear so nothing would obstruct the call. Once he finished, he fished a stylus out of his breast pocket and tapped at the phone screen.

Had he really just ended the call with his stylus? 

Then he was jotting something down with the tip. Serious, contemplative. 

The serious ones were always fun to crack. Little by little, they eventually broke open. 

Bastien was taller than himself, and by the way his suit fit to his frame, Chris guessed he had it specifically tailored. 

Did he come from good money or did positions within the ISU pay well enough? If Chris had to guess, it had to be more of the former than the latter. Groomed and proper. 

Josef called Chris over to meet them at the barrier. 

For a moment Chris considered showing off on his way to them, but disregarded them in favor of manners being sexier. Or more polite. Whichever. He stopped, touching the toe of the blade on the wall. “You called?”

“Have you given thought to the coming season?” Bastien asked.

“I thought that’s why you were here,” Chris winked. 

It was going to be a very long season if he couldn’t get either his coach or manager to lighten up. 

Chris sighed and said the first thing that came to mind. “I was thinking Latin.”

Bastien took out his phone and stylus once more. It was easy to imagine him being a clipboard man in another time period. Bastien scribbled what Chris assumed was “Latin.” 

“I’ll look into music choices, but program execution wise… twizzles, transitional triples lutzes and loops.”

A nod and more note taking. “Style of Latin?”

“That will entirely depend on the music I’m inspired by.”

One small raise of his left eyebrow, Bastien also took that into consideration. “I’ll bring a selection next practice.”

“Oh wonderful!”

“Last season you skated to one of Vivaldi’s oboe concertos.”

Chris wasn’t sure if that was a question or not, but confirmed it anyway. “That’s right.”

“Let’s not have a melancholy program this season.”

Chris had to suppress a retort. He’d been insistent on the piece despite Josef being less than enthusiastic. _ Largo _ hadn’t set him any records, but it depicted what he was going through last year. That was the point!

Not that anyone would know that. One could only assume he was going through heartbreak.

He was, of course. 

Perhaps a mournful Christophe Giacometti should never happen again on the ice. 

Was that why Josef was disappointed?

Either way, his new manager sounded very firm in his decision. “Very well. I’m all ears.”

 

Bastien overseeing his programs was going to make for a difficult year. Josef wasn’t exactly a saint, but he had allotted Chris a lot of freedom over the years. His youth he’d spent on the safer, conservative side with choice of music, theme, and costume. Over the last few years, however, his performance had shifted. Whether it was because of Viktor or in spite of, he wasn’t really sure, but he was grateful all the same - the audience ate it up. He was shaping into the kind of artist that he wanted to be.

On and off the ice. 

Chris hoped Bastien was more than a pretty face and wouldn’t try to change his image more than he was willing.  

The rain hadn’t stopped and the bus into town was more crowded than the one that brought him to the rink. At his stop, Chris weaved around the standing patrons and stepped off to unfurl his umbrella. 

Bruchstrasse Street had seen many businesses come and go for as long as Chris could remember. Cafes, boutiques, galleries, toy shops, bookstores, bike tourism, and florists. Some stayed, many altering ownership. Now there was a cupcake shop, a cafe that closed at noon, the old grocery store, and his father’s sweet shop.

Other than the grocer, the Giacometti’s family shop was the longest standing business on the street. His father kept the interior and exterior clean, maintained, and up to code, but he was not interested in remodeling for modern sake. Jan Giacometti was a man of not letting classics die. Recipes passed down from generation to generation and they were still in business. If it wasn’t broken, why fix it?

The most modern addition to the confectionary shop was a rotating ad of the seasonal sweets, featuring Jan’s daughter - Chris’s sister - Leonie. 

Both Giacometti children were professional models and part-time employees at the shop. 

The bell announced Chris’s arrival, and his father acknowledged him over the heads of two older women customers. They were looking over the bulk order forms. 

Chris opened the wood gate to the counter and disappeared to the back room for his apron and cap. 

With his father occupied, Chris then began to take stock of the display case. 

Pralines, milk and dark champagne truffles, candied almonds, a torte. More biberli wouldn’t hurt, either. Making tick marks on the list, he walked back to the storage cooler. 

Slipping on gloves, Chris braced for the cool blast as he opened the door. He pulled out the truffle drawer and carefully started to load them onto a tray until it was full and then he brought it back to the front, crouching behind the display to refill it. 

“I’ll have these ready for Saturday morning.” Father closed the binder and tore off the receipt ticket. 

“Thank you, Jan! So sorry for the rush order.”

Father nodded and sent them away, bell chiming after. 

“What’s the occasion?” Chris asked, adjusting his kneel to the second shelf.  

“A gala.”

“I’ve seen the flyers now that you mention it. Saturday at the library? I imagine Mother is attending.”

He hummed and opened the inventory log with furrowed brows. 

“I can go in your place if she wants company.”

The relief was immediate. He hated large gatherings and being forced into small talk. As much as he took pride in being married to a diplomat of Switzerland and her taking on his family name, he was a man of few words and quiet disposition. 

If it weren’t for the eyes, many wouldn’t believe Chris was his son.

“I can work extra to help you make their order.”

“We’ll need the supplies faster than my usual vendors can provide.”

“Ah, so we’ll need to overnight an order from our backup.” The online order form was simple enough, but not to someone that was technologically impaired like his father. Chris was more than happy to assist. 

Together they triple checked what they had on hand and matched it with what they were still needing and submitted the order.

As was usual with the weekday afternoon shift, Chris stayed with his father until close. Rain typically caused slower business as the charm and quaintness of the shop drew in those exploring and errand running when weather was nice.  

Turning off lights and locking the door behind them, Chris loaded his skating gear in the trunk of his Father’s car and hopped into the passenger seat. 

By the time they’d turned off Burchstresse street, the rain had reduced to a drizzle. 

Car rides with Father were quiet unless passengers had anything to say. And if they didn’t, it was never awkward. He was a calming presence among the rest of the family and they appreciated the times to be still and reflect. Chris enjoyed being with his father even when nothing was said.

And with Bastien on his mind, there was a lot to think about. 

They passed downtown and entered the windy rural roads up the hill, past cottages that gradually grew and turned into chalets the further they drove. 

Father pulled to the front of the semi-circle drive of the Giacometti home and didn’t pop the trunk. Normally Chris would take his gear inside until after dinner, unless--

“Were you taking me to work after dinner?” Chris asked, grateful. He didn’t expect to be fed every night he happened to work at the shop or a ride back home or anywhere. Walking the the nearest stop or hailing an Uber was just fine. 

But sometimes Father wanted to be inconvenienced. Spend those extra minutes with his son. 

Which also meant seeing more of Mother and Leonie. 

Chris followed Father inside through the side door and slipped off his shoes. 

“Papa, is that you? Chris too?”

Chris smiled that his sister had been waiting. “Yes I’m here, Leonie.” 

“Good! You can help me with this.”

They followed her voice into the parlor where it looked like her wardrobe had relocated. Judging by the state of the room and the blouse she was wearing was on backwards, Chris had to guess she was deciding on what to wear for a date or an interview.

“I have an interview with  _ Avenue _ this weekend and I’m trying to decide what to wear!”

“That would mean you’re going to Zurich…” Chris supplied mostly for their father’s benefit. The world of modeling was a little lost on him. 

“Claire is going with me, don’t worry.”

Father relaxed at Chris’s side. It would have been strange for her manager to not accompany her. 

“Maybe Nathaniel.”

Then their father went back to frowning.

“We’ll see what Mother says about that,” Chris said, though not showing his disapproval as strongly. Nathaniel was a boy from school that had taken interest in her recently. Chris knew from a young age he’d  _ hate _ when the time came that she’d be  _ dating _ . They weren’t dating.  _ Yet _ . As far as he knew. But for now... “Let’s take a look at your options.”

“I was thinking something light and airy, but is that too casual?”

Chris glanced over the whites and pastels that she’d already sorted. This really was the best room for lighting in the house. “No, not casual at all. I think wearing clothes that suit your frame and skin tone work best. Besides, it’s mostly what you wear outside of work. They’d appreciate you coming to them in your natural attire, which honestly is always spot on. Like this--” Chris picked up a sky blue sleeveless sundress. “This with white wedges. I’m sure mother has a silk scarf you could borrow to accessorize. You have a basket woven handbag?”

“Of course!”

“See? You’re set. Being yourself is always the answer.”

Father nodded his approval and left them to presumably start dinner for Mother’s arrival. 

Leonie exhaled her relief. “I just needed some assurance.”

“I have that in ample supply.” Chris crouched down to pick up the clothing from the floor.

Leonie joined him, starting a pile. “You’re the best! How late you staying tonight, by the way?”

“Sorry, I’ve got work.”

“Fiiiine. Guess I’ll pay someone to do my nails tomorrow.”

Chris laughed. “As flattering as that is, the nail salon does do a better job.”

“It’s not just about how my nails look.”

His little sister was the best at guilting him, with her big eyes and signature pout they inherited from their mother peering at him over the pile of clothes in her arms. “Unless you can wait until tomorrow night, probably won’t be able to until you get back.”

“Sadly we’ll have to wait. Promise for next week?”

“Sure.”

Can come watch you dance soon, too?”

Chris paused, nearly walking into the trap. “My work is no place for a young lady. You can come to my pole competition next month, though.”

“I could, I mean,  _ I will _ , but I want to see what you do at work.  _ Why _ you won’t let me see? You’ve let Mama go.”

“The type of people that go there. The atmosphere. And Mother came once against my wishes and you know it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ah, you’re afraid of the men - the heteromen - that could frisk me.”

“Well, a homosexual man sure wouldn't! Really, Leonie, you’re seventeen; they wouldn’t let you in the door anyway.”

“For my eighteenth birthday. How about that?”

Legally he couldn’t stop her at that point. He dropped his arms full of clothes on her bed. “If that is what you really want.” There was no good reason to refuse her. She was just as relentless as he was. 

 

Had Viktor not become a factor in Chris’s life, Chris was convinced he could have taken more after his father. It wasn’t until he’d started on the path, with how naturally he blossomed, he realized he was embracing his mother’s nature. 

Confident and exuberant, fashionable, and always making an entrance.

Even at home.

Heels clacking on the tile floor, keys jingling, purse and raincoat slacking off her shoulders with a practiced grace in the entryway.

“Something smells wonderful and both my babies are home!”

Leonie and Chris answered their mother’s call and met her halfway for hugs and kisses. Leonie still lived at home and Chris was over at least twice a week, but it was still always a production with her every time. 

“Welcome home, Mama! How was work?” Leonie asked.

She ruffled through both their hair before lifting a leg to remove her shoes. “Oh you know, disgruntled old men and their politics. The usual. And for the two of you?”

“The new guy broke the soft serve machine again, so that held up the line for a while. Busy and eventful. I don’t think my manager is wanting to replace him just yet.”

“I’m sure he’s under pressure of being new. It happens to the best of us. What about you, Chris?”

So much for waiting to be a dinner topic. “Speaking of managers… Josef decided I needed one.”

Mother narrowed her eyes. “What did you do?”

“So accusing…” He knew she was kidding. Mostly. 

“Are you giving Josef a hard time?”

“Apparently so!”

“I’ll have to stop by the rink one of these days and meet your manager. Observe. Josef doesn’t do things without reason.”

By observe did she mean see Chris’s behavior and vouch for needing a manager or did she assume the manager was male and her son was already heavily attracted to him? Either way it was a bit embarrassing to have one’s mother at practice. She’d done it a lot when he was younger and in need of assurance, but not since he’d become a senior!

“If you insist,” Chris said with a huff. There was no stopping her.

And of course Leonie couldn’t help a giggle. 

The three then started toward the dining room, Mother then detouring to round the kitchen island to throw herself upon her husband at the stove with a fond cry of “Jan!”

Father was more or less used to the tackles while preparing dinner and did well to hold on to the serving spoon in one hand and hug her with the other. Mother than bent her knees and waited for him to kiss her head. Once he did, satisfied and giddy like a schoolgirl, she joined her children at the table for dinner to be served. 

Zürcher Geschnetzeltes was dished and Mother offered a grace.

It wasn’t just sweets Father was good at making.

Between bites, the gala was confirmed for Saturday and Chris as Mother’s guest. Since Father wasn’t present earlier, Chris expanded on the surprise that awaited him at practice today. 

“A lot of skaters have more of an entourage than Josef keeps. It’s not odd or uncommon, right?” Mother asked.

It was the reason behind it that bothered Chris more than anything. And that Bastien Mueller was a tall drink of water. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just a change to my routine… an extra person to confide in with my programs.”

Mother stabbed a mushroom and swished it in the sauce on her plate. “How are your travel plans to Zurich coming, Leonie?”

“I’m thinking of inviting Nathaniel along.”

“Oooh that sounds lovely!”

Leonie flashed Chris a victorious grin.

“Mother!”   


“Like you, Christophe, Leonie is allowed to have her phases and curiosities. Just think; if I hadn’t been let out to explore, I wouldn’t have met your father.”

“See?”

“But that’s…”

“It’s not different at all, my star.”

“She’s younger.”

“No younger than Mama was. Or you.”

“I wasn’t dating anyone at seventeen.”

“But you  _ wanted  _ to.”

It was a fair jab. It always came down to Viktor. Always. Viktor brought on phases and curiosities, ones he wasn’t entirely sure he was over or had the opportunity to address through his frequent endeavors. But Viktor was the first confirmation of his sexual preferences. 

Claire was the second. 

How different would things have been if Chris and Viktor were the same age? Would conversations like this hurt less? 

“It’s sweet of you to think of me, Chris,” Leonie said after a moment, sensing the damage was done, even though there had been no harm intended in her tone. “If he decides he wants to come with me, Claire will still be there, too. Maybe I’ll hate him after this trip. Who knows?”

“I’m sorry. You’re right, Leonie. You should be allowed to try.” 

 

For the last two years Chris had gone from working bars to nightclubs in the evenings. It was a place he could pole dance for an audience that wasn’t for a ticketed competition. Most importantly, he loved it. Pole was an excellent exercise and worked and toned his body on and off skating season. It was also the starting point of where he was now.

Awkward at first, of course, but it didn’t take long for the cheers and catcalls to be encouraging; the lights and the music to be empowering; the pull of his muscles and sweat on his skin was a satisfying symphony of what his body could accomplish. 

It was all second to the ice. 

No matter the controversial implications, he didn’t hide his employment or enthusiasm from his skating and modeling interviews. 

Not wanting Leonie to come wasn’t due to shame, but having to save his fellow male and female dancers from grabby paws, let alone patrons. A young and beautiful model like his sister would attract attention. His mother drew plenty, but one look caused wolves to cower, a skill he quickly adapted as well. 

Tonight the crowd was on fire. The applause boomed like the base line and the tip jars were overflowing.  _ Thank you, tourist season _ . 

Chris positioned into a stargazer at the fade out of the music. A few beats of baited applause, he released the hold of his back ankle to curl back and onto his feet, pivot, and face the audience to bow. 

When he rose, there in the crowd, was Bastien.  


End file.
